


Turn a Blind Eye

by kaijoskopycat



Series: Cheats and Cons [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Collaboration, Falling In Love, Fights, Flirting, Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, Guns, Investigations, M/M, Mafia AU, Police, Russian Mafia, Secret Identity, Violence, and when I think of them, christophe is the bff, mafia!yuuri, more tags will be added as characters come in and story progresses, policeman!viktor, viktor is a determined SOB
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijoskopycat/pseuds/kaijoskopycat
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is assigned the case of a lifetime when a new mafia member rises to the top - he’s obsessed with finding this man and he’s determined to bring the case to a close, no matter what it takes.But then he meets Katsuki Yuuri. That’s when everything changes.A fic collaboration with artwork fromdrawverylittle.





	1. It Started With A Video

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this on here per request. LOL 
> 
> I want to forewarn any new readers that these chapters are going to be short in length. But there will be quite a few of them. They will be released when the accompanying art is also ready to be posted. I appreciate your patience and your readership always and hope you enjoy this mafia AU!
> 
> The fanfic is a collaboration with the amazing artist [drawverylittle](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/) <3
> 
> Artwork for chapter one can be found [here](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/post/159116754196/mafiaau-chapter-1-it-starts-with-a-video).

Viktor loses count of how many times he hits rewind on the security tape. He’s numb to the whirring, hissing sound of the rewind. But the image is fuzzy. No matter how many times he goes back, home many times he pauses, he can’t quite see what he’s trying to focus on. 

The man in the video is clearly young. At least Viktor assumes he is. The men with him are older, larger. Lackeys, for all intents and purposes. Security detail. The young man in the center is slight, his forearms exposed by the roll of his sleeves are slender, but even in the fuzzy image Viktor can tell a muscle cords beneath the skin. He’s no slouch. 

The most Viktor can make out in the black and white video beyond that is black hair and a tattoo that stretches down the back of his forearms. But no amount of pausing, of staring, of getting so close to the screen the brightness is making him dizzy, has made him able to make out what that tattoo may be. 

“Viktor!” Christophe whines from the desk beside him. “You’ve watched that tape hundreds of times. What else do you expect to see?” 

“I can’t make out what is on his arms,” Viktor replies, pausing the video again. Is it another arm inked on to his own? 

“You can barely make out anything,” Christophe points out with a sigh. “That’s the misfortune of having a security tape from these washed up casinos as evidence.” 

Viktor leans back and sighs, leaving the video paused on the man reaching out with one of his tattooed arms to take a briefcase from the casino manager. 

“I need a better picture.” 

“Don’t we all.” Christophe rolls his eyes and pushes himself away from his desk. He’s already changed out of his uniform and into a well fitted, black button down. His sleeves are rolled up in a manner reminiscent of the mafia member Viktor can’t take his eyes off of. “How about you dwell on that another day and come out with me? We could both use a drink.” 

Viktor shakes his head and flips open the file on his desk, pressing his fingers to his chin in contemplation. Newspaper clippings, witness testimony, images of property damage left behind are all they have to help them track down the newest member of the Russian mafia. 

They say he’s Japanese. That he’s young. That he rose up the ranks in the Yakuza so quickly, so efficiently that no one questioned his reign. That the Russian mafia all but begged him to make his way up here, to resurrect their dying presence. But Viktor can’t quite tell fact from fiction yet. 

Is this young man really Japanese or is he just another Russian member that was kept hidden from the press and the policy force? Is he here to stay or does he have a singular purpose? Has he really bitten someone’s ear off? Or torn out their eye? He suspects some of the rumors are just that… rumors. But he’s determined to find out which ones are rooted in truth. 

“Go on without me,” Viktor tells Christophe, offering a weak smile. “Tonight I would only cramp your style.” 

Christophe snorts and slams the file shut. “Viktor, your style is my style. You could never cramp it.” He pushes the file aside and loosens Viktor’s tie until he pulls it over his head. He flicks open the top few buttons of Viktor’s uniform. “None of this is going anywhere. Besides,” He grabs Viktor’s hand and pulls him out of his seat and Viktor gives up fighting. Christophe is too persistent to struggle against. “Maybe our little mafia man likes the clubs here too.” 

Viktor chuckles and resigns himself to a night out. Christophe is right. He could use a drink, something that can distort his mind into forgetting the swipe of dark hair and black tattoos reaching down sure, confident arms.


	2. Then There's a Glimpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor let's himself believe that a night out will make him forget his fixation with this new mafia member and his strange tattoo, but it turns out crowds full of people with black hair and exposed arms do nothing but make him continue his search. 
> 
> Until he finds someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a look at the amazing artwork of [drawverylittle](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/) and her [addition to this AU](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/post/159639611041/mafiaau-turn-a-blind-eye-chapter-2-then). 
> 
> I thank you all for your patience and readership. Again, these chapters are going to be short and are released as the art accompanying it is ready as well and I do hope you take advantage of this stunning artwork that goes along with the story!

Christophe insists they dance and Viktor can never say no when a good song is playing. Viktor has always been weak for a good dance. He feels as though he interprets the music differently from others, feels it more.

As he moves with the people around him, he flicks open the top few buttons of the blue button up Christophe had chosen to compliment his black one. When he says Viktor is his style, he means it. Mostly because Christophe enjoys dressing him as much as Viktor loves his job.

He doesn’t mind though. Blue brings out his eyes. Eyes than flit around the room, active, searching. He isn’t invested tonight. He can’t feel the rhythm the same way he always does.

He watches every bare arm he sees. Studies the sweep of every black hair. The image of the tattoo is burned in his retina, the slight smirk on that strong jaw. He can’t get it out of his head.

He tries to remind himself that the tattoo is only in the video. That he won’t see this man here. Someone smart enough to elude the police force for so long wouldn’t be caught in a public venue like this.

Then he sees him.

 _That’s him_. Viktor pushes his way through the masses of people moving in rhythm. They push and pull against him like waves, but he’s determined to swim through, to catch the fish he’s been tailing all night. And he knows it’s him.

It’s the hair. He swears he saw the arms earlier. It has to be.

The rhythm changes, shifts so the crowd moves closer to the DJ stage and an opening parts for him. Elated, Viktor takes his chance, diving through the hole made and reaching. His fingers close around a slender wrist and he pulls.

“Hey, I know what you’ve been up to and–”

The face that stares back at him isn’t a face he expects to see. He expects a cocky smirk, a dangerous gleam in a pair of eyes he doesn’t yet know the color of.

But these eyes hide behind a pair of frames, the glasses catching the light and glittering on the way his eyes widen, startled and fearful. His sleeves are fixed tight around his wrists and his eyes flicker from side to side. He doesn’t try to pull away. He swallows hard and says, “I–uh…I think you might have the wrong person.”

Viktor’s jaw drops as he releases the young man’s wrist. He takes in the face in front of him. His hair has that same dark sweep, but his eyes hold no malice. Only confusion, and maybe a bit of curiosity. He wrings his hands together, peering up at Viktor over the curve of his lenses, his cheeks flushed a light pink.

“I’m sorry if you were looking for someone. I’m not really familiar with this area, but… if you needed the help, I–”

Viktor throws himself forward, grabbing the younger man’s hands. “I am _so_ sorry.” Embarrassment burns in the pit of his stomach. It’s not a feeling he enjoys. “I had someone else on the mind and from behind you just…” He pulls a hand away to tug his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, please, allow me to make it up to you.”

The young man blinks at him. His gaze bounces between his enveloped hands and Viktor’s expectant face. “Make it up to me?”

“Let me buy you a drink…” He pauses, belatedly remembering he never got a name.

The young man has dark eyes. Brown, maybe. Viktor can’t quite tell in this light, but there’s something in those eyes that draws Viktor in. He can’t put a finger on it. But Viktor does know he likes the way this young man bites his lip as he considers Viktor’s offer.

“Yuuri…” The young man finally says.

Viktor beams. “Viktor,” he offers in return, squeezing Yuuri’s hand in response. “Let me buy you a drink, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s lips twitch. The hint of a smile is more than enough answer for Viktor as he tugs him through the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for the lovely comments! Your encouragement fuels this AU even more and I'm so glad you all enjoy it! :D


	3. Next He Got a Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor wrestles with a massive hangover from his wild night before and finally voices a decision he's made regarding the mafia case that consumes his brain. The only favorable distraction from work is a certain hottie he met at the bar last night... the guy who made him forget about the tattoo, who made him forget about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. [drawverylittle](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/) is a wonderful partner throughout all this and has been so patient with me. Her addition will come later and I will add the link to her glorious artwork here when it is available. <3 Already excited for it! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

Viktor presses the tips of his thumb and forefinger against his nose and groans. 

"What's the matter, Vitya?" Christophe coos from his desk across from Viktor's. "Too much excitement for you to handle last night?"

Too much excitement and too much alcohol. Viktor can't remember the last time he was so hungover. He doesn't know why he kept drinking, or how the drinks ended up in his hands. He remembers buying a few drinks for the poor young man he mistook as a mafia member. He remembers feeling mortified that he made such an embarrassing scene because he couldn't stop fixating on the video. 

He hasn't watched it once today. _Yet_.

Another thing he remembers is dancing. 

Yuuri--that demure, big-eyed, genuinely kind hearted soul that Viktor met last night--had turned out to be an _amazing_ dancer, literally sweeping Viktor off his feet and giving him one of the most enjoyable evenings of his lifetime. 

"So, are you going to tell me about that dark-haired babe who was swinging you around the dance floor, grinding his beautiful ass into your crotch?"

Viktor throws a book at Christophe who expertly dodges and leans across his desk again, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Come on, Vitya! You can't expect me not to be excited for you!" Christophe vaults over his desk--a daily occurrence--and sits atop the edge of Viktor's. "Give me _all_ the details. You disappeared before I could say a single thing last night. Did you--"

"It was just dancing, Christophe." Viktor shakes his head. He knows he's smiling, a telltale sign of a lie. He can't help it. The memory of Yuuri's smiling face, his hands in his, their bodies moving together, his lips...

"Did you get his number?"

Viktor blinks. His mind is getting carried away.

"Vitya!" Christophe slams a hand against Viktor's desk. "You better have gotten the number of that man who obviously stuck his tongue down your throat and--"

"Ugh, disgusting! This is a fucking work place, you perverted old men." 

Viktor glances over his shoulder. Yuri Plisetsky leans against the door frame, arms crossed, brow furrowed as an epic scowl twists his lips. Viktor grins and beckons him inside, but Yuri remains in the doorway. 

"I'm not coming any closer. Who knows what the hell you did in here last night."

"Yuratchka," Viktor tuts softly and pats the top of his desk. "I value my workspace. Besides..." He cocks his head to the side and smirks. "Why would I bring anyone here when I could have them all to myself at my place? There are cameras here, you know, and I don't like to share." He pauses, flashing teeth for added effect. "And I don't like to have to be quiet."

"Gross..." Yuri mutters as he slowly walks into the room. 

Yuri Plisetsky is a close friend of Viktor's family. His parents are well-acquainted with Yuri's grandfather and Yuri, throughout much of Viktor's life, has been like a younger brother to him. When he told Viktor he wanted to join the policy force Viktor petitioned to have them work together, ecstatic and protective. Yuri working on his team means he can keep an eye on him and works to Viktor's advantage. Yuri is determined, a quick learner, skillful in anything he puts his mind to. 

Yakov, Viktor's boss, was more than happy to hand Yuri over after he dealt with the young man's fiery temper and foul mouth. 

"I have..." Viktor hesitates as Yuri hovers near his desk. He's furiously debated over the decision he's about to voice aloud for the past few nights, but he knows he can't afford to lose Christophe's detail-oriented brain at his side. Yuri is the most logical, capable choice, has been from the very beginning. For many reasons. "I have an assignment for you."

Yuri's brow rises. 

"It's dangerous."

"Like I give a fuck," Yuri replies with a roll of his eyes. 

"I don't want you thinking I'm punishing you with--"

"Viktor, shut the fuck up. You're punishing me by rambling on life this. What the hell is the assignment?"

"I need you to become a member of the Russian mafia."

Christophe, now back at his desk, chokes on a sip of coffee. 

Yuri stares at him. 

Viktor runs his fingers through his hair and frowns. "I know it sounds insane. But I need someone on the inside. Someone with connections like yours. Someone who is thick-skinned enough to blend in with the hard exterior of the mafia and who can report straight to me. We know where portions of the mafia hang out, but... I need someone to find out who this new guy is. If you're on the inside--"

"You want me..." Yuri places a hand on the desk, clenching his fingers against the hardwood. "...to become a member of the mafia." He tilts his head forward, his long, blond hair blocking his expression from Viktor's view. 

"Yuratchka, if I thought there was anyone else that could do this..." Viktor swallows past the lump growing in his throat. He's been agonizing over this for so long. He didn't expect this kind of reaction. "You know I'd never intentionally put you in danger. I--"

"Fuck yes," Yuri whispers. 

Viktor blinks. "Yuratchka?"

Yuri lifts his head, a wide, mad grin spreading across his lips. "Fuck. Yes. Viktor. IT's about damn time you gave me something exciting!" 

Relief floods through Viktor as he releases a held breath. "You're insane, Yuratchka." He chuckles, running his palm down his face. "I'll give you all the details tomorrow. You can go home for the day."

Yuri's grin doesn't wane as he leaves the room and Viktor can't help but smile. He knows Yuri has hated all the paperwork and all the small tasks that he claims are too easy, too boring. He's going stir crazy cooped up in the office as he has been. As much as Viktor hates to, essentially, put Yuri in the direct line of fire, he knows he'll have someone he can trust out there. 

And he will burn down every mafia building he can find, execute every member alive if anyone hurts Yuri. 

"Are you sure about that?" Christophe asks, drawing Viktor's attention toward him. 

Viktor sighs. "Chris, don't make me second guess this decision."

Christophe hums in response and turns his chair away. It's enough for Viktor to understand how he feels about the situation. 

He doesn't have time to mull over Christophe's reaction as his cell phone pings with a new message. He expects to see Christophe's name show up, for him to comment through a text as he always does, but the contact on the screen makes him pause. 

"Hottie from the bar?" He muses aloud. 

Christophe's chair creaks as he whips around. "So you did get his number?" He's at Viktor's side in an instant, his disapproval all but forgotten in his excitement. "What does it say?"

Viktor grins and tilts the screen toward Christophe, even as he reads aloud, "I think you may have my tie."


	4. There Will Always Be Katsudon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor meets Yuuri to return his tie and gets sneak peek into his life that he never would've expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These notes will always be me apologizing for delays in updates. Things have been really busy in life and I've been trying to write bits and pieces of this when I'm able. 
> 
> I appreciate everyone's patience and enthusiasm. Everyone's excitement for this fic makes definitely contributes to my own excitement for it! So thank you all!

Viktor has never disliked Japanese food, but he’s never strayed far enough away from the station to run across Katsudon Kafe. It boasts the best katsudon in town and Viktor doesn’t doubt the truth of it. You can’t walk into any other Russian restaurant and find that their speciality is katsudon.

A gentle bell tinkles as he steps through the door. He’s stricken. It feels as though he’s stepped out of Russia and straight into Japan. The atmosphere feels exactly like an onsen. Viktor’s been in one once, a long time ago, before he took a job on the police force.

Wooden floors stretch to the back of the room, sliding paper doors are placed periodically throughout the room, offering a modicum of solitude to some guests, while other tables are in the open, offering more of a real restaurant atmosphere.

Not tables like you’d find in Russian restaurants, Viktor notices. Kotatsus. Thick blankets protrude from beneath the tabletops and Viktor resists the urge to slip beneath one to feel the warmth of the heater he hopes is hiding beneath.

He’s about to give in to the urge, to wait for Yuuri at a table instead of at the door like he was asked, when a familiar voice draws his attention away from the kotatsu.

“Are you waiting for a table? Or are you– oh!”

Yuuri steps out from behind one of the sliding paper doors and smiles when his eyes land on Viktor.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” Yuuri says as he smooths his fingers down the front of his yukata, his arms hidden in the wide sleeves that nearly engulfs his entire hand. The sight of the triangle of pale skin exposed at Yuuri’s neck makes Viktor’s heart leap into his throat. He coughs and Yuuri chuckles. “Guess I probably should’ve changed before you got here.”

“Yuuuuuri,” Viktor whines, clicking his tongue. “You would rob me of a sight like this? How cruel.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Are you always this dramatic? Or are you as drunk as you were the night before?”

Caught off guard by the sassy lilt in Yuuri’s voice, Viktor’s cheeks flush and he tilts his head away. “I have been called dramatic a time or two.”

“A time or two, I’m sure.” Yuuri adjusts the sash around his waist, tightening it closed to limit the amount of skin that shows through. As he rubs his hands around his neck it occurs to Viktor that the flush on his cheeks may not only be from Viktor’s shameless gaze.

“Are you shy, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s eyes flicker away. “I’m…” He gestures toward the room from which he came and takes a step back. Viktor follows. “Not used to someone being so…”

“Honest?” Viktor supplies, glancing at the kotatsu in the room they entered.

A soft click from behind makes him glance over his shoulder. Yuuri had closed the door behind them.

“Honest is one way to put it.”

“You’re beautiful, Yuuri.”

Yuuri groans and runs a palm down his face. “If you’re remembering me from the night before, you were really drunk. I don’t look like that all the time. I–”

“I’m sober, Yuuri,” Viktor reminds him. “It doesn’t change what I’ve said.”

“God…” Yuuri slowly lowers himself to the floor beside the kotatsu.

“You don’t believe me?” Viktor follows, his knees touching a ground that is, surprisingly, not as hard as he expected it to be.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Yuuri admits softly. He slides his legs under the blanket and rests an elbow on the table. “I reserved this room for a very short time so…”

“Short time?” Viktor cocks an eyebrow. He takes in Yuuri’s yukata again, silently lamenting the covered skin. “You work here?”

Yuuri’s lips twitch. “Something like that.”

Viktor is silent, reading between the lines. His mind puts the pieces together. “You own this place.”

Yuuri hesitates for only a moment before he nods. “It’s not as flashy or exciting as being a policeman.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. “I told you that?”

“Flashed your badge and said you would frisk me too,” Yuuri replies with a bemused grin.

Viktor runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “That… sounds like me, yes.”

Yuuri chuckles. “Yes, you’re very proud of your job.” He scratches the edge of the table and smiles softly. “But so am I. I’m not saving lives or anything, but at least I can say I’m sharing my mother’s famous recipe with the world.”

“Ah, the katsudon?” Viktor expression softens.

“The katsudon,” Yuuri confirms. The smile that lights up his face is gentle, loving. Viktor longs to reach out to brush his fingers across that pink cheek. “She made the best katsudon. It always made my day when she made it for me.”

“Made it?” Viktor knows he has no right to pry. They hardly know one another. But that fact alone makes the question come out. If there’s anyone in the world he wants to know, right now it’s Yuuri. Even more than the faceless man with the tattoos.

“She passed away a few months before I moved here,” Yuuri admits softly. His hand stretches across the table as he sighs, the strain evident in his voice.

Viktor catches his hand and runs a soothing thumb across the smooth skin when Yuuri doesn’t pull away. “Yuuri…”

“I made you some katsudon,” Yuuri says, glancing up a Viktor. He smiles. “You know… I had so much trouble getting the recipe down. It’s simple, really, but somehow mine never seemed to taste like hers.” He shifts his hand in Viktor’s, almost threading their fingers before he pulls back and drops his hands into his lap. “You know what she told me the secret ingredient was?”

Viktor watches Yuuri’s expression soften. He shakes his head.

“Love.”

Viktor’s lips spread into a soft, genuine smile. He knows what attracted him to Yuuri. The unguarded expression, the heart on his sleeve. He may not know him well enough, but he learned enough from this one conversation to know that Yuuri’s loyalty knows no bounds. And Viktor loves that about him.

“Then I have no doubt your katsudon will far surpass my standards.”

Yuuri snorts and shakes his head. “I packed a bowl for you to take home.”

Viktor pauses. “To take home?”

Yuuri pushes himself off the ground and nods. “I told you I had this room for a short time,” he reminds Viktor. “I meant it. I have a job to do, Viktor.”

Viktor’s lips twitch. “What a tease,” he calls after Yuuri as he disappears behind another door. “And here I thought you were making time for me.”

Yuuri returns with a bag that he placed in front of Viktor. “I did make time for you,” he says, staring pointedly down at him. “What little time I had.”

“And here I thought my afternoon would be filled with Yuuri. But you only wanted your tie.” Viktor pouts. If Yuuri wants to call him dramatic, then he’ll live up to the description.

Yuuri rolls his eyes and smiles. “Drama.” He takes a step forward and Viktor pushes himself off the floor, closing the distance between them. He reaches out to slip an arm around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri catches it, his eyes never leaving Viktor’s face, and smiles sweetly. “My tie.”

“Terrible,” Viktor replies, his head already tilting toward Yuuri’s.

“Viktor.” Yuuri squeezes his arm in warning.

“Right, right.” Viktor sighs and takes a step back. “You’re working. I understand. But,” he lifts up a finger a waves it back and forth in front of Yuuri’s face. “I’ll be keeping that tie.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “But Viktor–”

“There’s no way I’ll let you wear that tacky thing again.”

“Tacky?”

“You must let me take you out to buy a new one.”

Yuuri’s mouth opens and he closes it again. He starts to shakes his head.

“Yuuri,” Viktor leans forward, their faces inches apart. This close he can see exactly how beautifully brown his eyes are, how well the soft blush on his cheeks compliments them. How flush his lips are and how badly Viktor wants to taste them when he’s sober enough to remember it all. “Say yes.”

He watches Yuuri’s throat bob as he swallows.

“I–” Yuuri glances away from Viktor’s face, wringing his hands in the sash of his yukata. Finally, he sighs and Viktor grins at the sound of resignation. “Fine, but…” This time Yuuri lifts a finger in front of Viktor’s face, imitating him. His lips curl into a frown. “I want my tie back too. One new one, and my "tacky” tie too.“

Viktor grins and snatches the bag off the table as he steps back. He turns to leave, lifting his hand in a wave. Before he steps out the door he glances over his shoulder and winks at Yuuri.

"It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet y'all thought the little "sneak peek" would be a mafia clue. 
> 
> TOO BAD :) That will come soon enough!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! :D


	5. Invite Phichit to the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor laments over his lack of intel in regards to the Russian Mafia, but when Yakov offers him new blood for the case he learns a little secret that will throw even more darkness into his empty barrel of information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you all previously that I'd be doing a lot of apologizing here. So here it goes:
> 
> I AM SO SORRY FOR DELAYS AND AM SO GRATEFUL TO THOSE PATIENT ENOUGH TO STILL FOLLOW THE STORY. MANYMANYMANY THANKS! 
> 
> Further information will be in a note at the end, but I do want to say that I haven't given this up and I genuinely do appreciate any and all readership and enthusiasm from you guys. I'm glad someone shares my passion for YOI and the mafia HAHA

“And you’re sure they’ll let you in?”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot, Viktor? They’re not just gonna _let me in_. It’s the _mafia_.” 

Viktor rolls his eyes as he flips through the paperwork, through the pictures he’s got in his ever growing folder on the Russian mafia. It’s embarrassing, really, just how big this file has gotten and how little progress they’ve made. He needs Yuri out in the field. Needs a man on the inside to gather the kind of intel they’ve been lacking thus far. Yuri's first day out in the field has yet to prove useful, but Viktor is still hopeful.

“I’m aware of what they are, Yuratchka.” Viktor glances up from the paperwork, taking in Yuri’s scowling face. “You don’t have seniority because of your father’s reputation, but you are the kind of intrigue to catch their eye.”

“Tch.” Yuri pushes back from Viktor’s desk. “I’ll be going back on Friday. Otabek said that--”

Viktor slaps a hand against the desk. “Otabek?”

Yuri pauses. 

“Yuratchka, who is Otabek?” He waits, watches as Yuri’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. His eyes narrow. It's not like Yuri to leave out important information. Especially a name. “What are you trying to hide?”

“I’m hiding anything, you suspicious old man.” Yuri sneers at him. “I thought I mentioned him already.” 

Viktor levels a stare at him. “Don’t play dumb. Why are you trying to hide him?”

“I’m not trying to hide him!” Yuri throws his hands up in frustration. “He’s just the owner of the bar.”

“Just the owner of a known _mafia_ bar,” Christophe chips in. Viktor dips his head in gratitude. Christophe grins in response and lifts his feet up on the corner of his desk. “He’s not ‘just’ anyone, Yuratchka.” 

“Don’t start your shit,” Yuri snaps, glaring at Christophe over his shoulder. “You're not a part of this fucking conversation.” 

“I don’t have to be,” Christophe notes aloud, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re loud enough for the whole station to hear.”

“Chris--”

“I see you cause trouble for all your superiors, eh, Yuratchka?”

Viktor snorts when Yuri jumps at the sound of Yakov’s deep, gravelly voice. “I thought you broke him of the pouty child routine, Yakov?”

“Viktor…” Yuri growls.

Viktor lifts a hand and waves it dismissively. Yuri’s eyes flash in anger, his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t fight the silent command to leave. He stomps out of the room, throwing a middle finger up over his shoulder to silently express his displeasure. 

Christophe chuckles and straightens himself in his chair, bringing his feet to the floor. Viktor can complain about dirt on the desktops all he wants and Christophe will never listen to him, but Yakov walks into a room and Christophe is suddenly the perfect soldier. Viktor can’t help but roll his eyes. 

When Yakov turns to face Viktor, Christophe shrugs and smiles. He ignores Viktor’s nose twitch in annoyance and returns to sorting the paperwork in front of him. 

“I see you’ve made no progress with your assignment,” Yakov comments as he looms over Viktor’s desk. 

Viktor sighs. “You were waiting all day to utter that cruel line, weren’t you?”

Yakov’s lips don’t even twitch as he meets Viktor’s gaze. “I know what task you’ve given to Yuratchka.” 

Viktor tenses. 

“I don’t agree with it.” Yakov adds after a weighted silence. 

“I didn’t think you would,” Viktor replies. He pulls a hand down his face and shakes his head. “I had no other choice. Who else would you have me send to them? Yuri can get in with little to no resistance because of--”

“His father has nothing to do with this assignment.” Yakov tugs on the corner of a photo that hides beneath a pile of papers. Yuri’s father stands in the background, a gentle hand on the top of Yuri’s head. “Neither should Yuratchka.” 

“Yakov,” Viktor reaches forward and grabs the photo from Yakov’s grasp. “You’re not here to discuss how much you disapprove of my decisions. What do you want?”

Christophe waggles his eyebrows approvingly behind Yakov’s back. Viktor adamantly ignores him. He already feels sick for using the tone he is using with Yakov right now. He’s always admired Yakov, despite his rebellious nature toward him when he was around Yuri’s age. 

“I have recruited someone else for this assignment.” Yakov tells him. 

Viktor’s brow twitches. “You’ve recruited someone else for _my_ assignment?”

Yakov waves away his annoyance. “You need someone like him.” He steps back to lean his head out of the door to Viktor and Christophe’s office, beckoning someone in with a nod of his head. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m being generous enough to share him.”

A lean, tanned young man steps into the room. His dark, disheveled hair is cut straight across the top of his forehead, his bangs out of his eyes to keep his expression friendly, open. He beams at Viktor and inclines his head in greeting. Viktor can't help but smile in return. 

“Phichit Chulanont,” Yakov introduces, placing a large, wrinkled hand on Phichit’s shoulder. “Just transferred from Thailand specifically to cover the Russian mafia.”

“Cover?” Viktor’s eyes narrow.

“I'm a journalist,” Phichit says, his smile widening. “With the recent outbreak of mafia related events here well… it was a bit of a gold mine for me! How could I say no?”

“I'll say it for you,” Viktor replies with a twitch of his lips. He tilts his head back, haughty, determined. “I don't need a liability like a journalist working under me.”

“He will not be working as a journalist,” Yakov’s deep voice cuts in. “He will be working as a part of the police force.”

“I won't have any of the workings here published to satisfy his need for fame and glory, Yakov. Look at him.” He flicks his wrist toward Phichit.

Phichit grins. “Isn't this where you say, ‘no offense’?”

Viktor ignores him and continues. “I don't need to babysit some--”

Yakov slaps an article on Viktor’s desk. Though he hesitates, Viktor grabs it and scans the images. He doesn't even need to see the words to know what it is. Thailand had recently been outed on a scandal with one of their politicians, one that involved a lot of sex trafficking and substances Viktor, as a policeman, had never even heard of. He remembers Christophe ranting about the man who captured those images, how he must've been inside. How there was no way he got that kind of intel standing on the sidelines. 

When the news came out that it was nothing but a lowly journalist who had always dutifully sat at his desk and played nice with all his coworkers, Christophe had a field day. He had pestered Viktor about this man, about how beneficial it would be to have someone like him on their side.

Viktor expects it before it even happens

Christophe slaps his hands on Viktor’s desk, having made his way over in curiosity. A wide grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows in Phichit’s direction. 

“He came to us!” Christophe whoops and slaps a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “You can't say no now.” 

Viktor groans and runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes flicker toward Phichit. “But you're a journalist.”

“I have military training,” Phichit adds. “Father thought I needed to ‘grow a pair’ and threw me to the dogs.” He shrugs and smiles. “Sure has helped with the photography and journalism though!” 

“I'll say,” Christophe beams. 

“I understand why you hesitate,” Phichit admits, his eyes cut toward the door and Yakov immediately steps back to close it. “But I promise you’ll want someone like me now more than ever.”

“If you're talking about mafia infiltration,” Viktor begins with a shake of his head. “I've already got someone on the inside.”

“That's good!” Phichit replies, his grin widening. “Always good to have the upper hand… except you aren't the only one with an inside man.”

Viktor bristles. 

“I heard a rumor that a member of the mafia might be amongst your ranks as well,” Phichit leans forward conspiratorially. He drops his voice to a whisper. “It's the real reason I came to Russia. The mafia is television special at most, the mafia infiltrating the police force… now _that’s_ a story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going through a lot in life lately, not all good, and unfortunately, writing has fallen on the back burner as of late to take care of some things. Believe me, I am quite saddended by it because writing is an escape for me, but I do promise I've not given up on this as I am still very much excited to write this out. I hope you all will continue to be patient with me on this journey and that you enjoy the fic as it progresses!


	6. Things Learned in Dressing Rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor finally has to give up holding Yuuri's tie hostage, but he has a price. And Yuuri is, surprisingly, willing to pay it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Viktor checks his phone for the tenth time. 

It’s not like he thinks Yuuri will blow him off. Yuuri doesn’t seem like the type to do anything remotely hurtful or rude. But Viktor does think that maybe he’ll be an exception to that side of him. After all, Yuuri did say he was _dramatic_. He might think he’ll be too much to be around outside where people can see them together. 

Christophe did always tell him that he shines a little too bright. Maybe Yuuri needs a pair of sunglasses to handle Viktor’s shine. 

He’s just about to pull up Yuuri’s number in his phone to give him a reminder call when he hears a breathy, “Viktor,” from over his shoulder. 

He turns, a wide smile already on his face, to see Yuuri stumbling toward him. He’s panting, a little out of breath, but smiling back. That’s enough encouragement for Vitkor to step forward and give him a friendly hug. 

Yuuri returns the hug half heartedly with a pat to the back and a half smile. When he pulls back, he runs his fingers through his hair and gasps, “I’m sorry I’m late. I had a little crisis at the restaurant and needed to--”

It’s then that Viktor notices a bruise across Yuuri’s knuckles. Without thinking, he grabs Yuuri’s hand as it falls from his hair and ghosts his fingers across the darkened skin. Yuuri flinches and offers a sheepish smile. 

Viktor's brow rises. “Did this crisis involve you...punching someone in the face?” 

Yuuri’s eyes widened, horrified. “God, no! I could… I’m no fighter… No.” He pulls his hand back and rubs his other hand over the bruise. “I kinda dropped some pots and caught them with the wrong side of my hand?” He rubs at his nape and shrugs. “I might have created the crisis myself… Spilled a whole pot full of broth. I wasn’t able to leave that mess behind for the kitchen to handle. I do try to maintain a cleanly work environment.” 

Viktor’s lips twitch. It makes sense. Yuuri is too soft to be a fighter. And, truth be told, Viktor had already categorized him as a klutz before he really got to know him. Something about the way he carries himself made him think it was a valid assumption. 

The bruises are just proof. 

“Spilled a pot of broth?” He grins. “Yuuri, you are something.” 

“Something…” Yuuri shakes his head. “That’s a word for it.” 

Viktor reaches out and grabs Yuuri’s hand again. He slowly threads their fingers together, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Yuuri tenses, but doesn’t pull away. 

“Is this okay?” Viktor asks, giving him a tug to get him moving. 

After a beat of hesitation, Yuuri follows. He doesn’t say anything, but he nods. Viktor can see the small smile on his lips out of the corner of his eye. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Honestly, Yuuri,” Viktor sighs, exasperated. “Have you no sense of fashion whatsoever?”

“What?” Yuuri frowns at him, holding up a tie littered with large black and red diamonds. “I think it’s kinda… cool looking.”

Viktor shakes his head. “Cool looking isn’t necessarily fashionable, Yuuri. You want to look suave, classy,” He presses his fingers to his chin and eyes Yuuri up and down. “Professional, right?” 

“I--”

“That tacky tie of yours won’t do and neither will this one.”

Yuuri sighs and rolls his eyes. “Will you please stop bashing my tie. There’s nothing wrong with--”

“Yuuri, let the master give you some pointers.”

“Are you going to let me have an opinion or are you--”

“Go grab a dressing room and I will join you momentarily.” 

Resigned, Yuuri makes his way to the dressing rooms without protest and Viktor follows almost immediately after with a handful of ties. 

Viktor steps into the dressing room and closes the door softly behind him. When he turns back to Yuuri, he finds him tugging on the sleeve of his shirt and looking everywhere but at Viktor. His cheeks are colored a light pink and he’s standing as far away from Viktor as the small space will allow. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says softly, grinning widely when Yuuri finally looks up to meet his gaze. “Are you really going to be so shy?” He takes a few steps forward, relishing in the way Yuuri’s eyes widen like cornered prey. “You know, I may have been drunk the night I met you, but I can still remember exactly how you taste.”

“Viktor!” Yuuri swallows audibly. 

“Do you really think this dressing room is any different from the bathroom stall we locked ourselves into that night?”

Yuuri groans softly and runs a palm down his face. “Just--” He extends his other hand. “Just give me a tie.” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Viktor tuts softly, dropping a few ties on the bench to their left and swinging the other around Yuuri’s neck. “I’ll be tying them for you.” He works quickly, his fingers deftly tying the perfect knot. He lets his fingers brush against Yuuri’s adam’s apple before he pulls away. “What do you think?”

He spins Yuuri around to look in the mirror behind them. 

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes. He reaches up to brush his fingers across the simple grey and blue pinstripes on the black tie that Viktor had chosen. Viktor hovers over his shoulder, a smile playing across his lips. “It’s…”

“Perfect?” Viktor supplies. “Magnificent? Classy? Debonair?”

“You could’ve stopped at perfect,” Yuuri mutters, rolling his eyes at Viktor’s reflection in the mirror. 

Viktor chuckles. “Fine,” he concedes. “Perfect.” 

Though Viktor had picked out plenty of simple, classy ties for Yuuri, he chooses the first one to purchase. Viktor half-heartedly complains about all the options he offered, but the first one is secretly his favorite and he’s glad that Yuuri chose that over all the rest. 

“I appreciate all the help, Viktor,” Yuuri says as he reaches up to loosen the final tie from his neck. “I still don’t think it was really… necessary, but I still appreciate it.” 

“Not _necessary_?” Viktor scoffs. He reaches around Yuuri to help remove the tie, gently moving Yuuri’s hand out of the way. “With your lack of fashion sense, it most certainly was…” He trails off, his eyes widening as a black mark is revealed on the back of Yuuri’s wrist when his sleeve slides up his arm an inch. “Yuuri… what is--”

Yuuri immediately rubs the sleeve back down his wrist. “It’s nothing,” he says, a little too quickly. “Just more bruising.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow as he slowly drags the tie off of Yuuri’s neck. “More bruising…” He drops the tie on the bench and stares at Yuuri’s face in the mirror. “From work?”

Yuuri keeps his eyes averted as he nods.

“You’re sure it’s from work?” Viktor presses. “You know if something is going on in your life outside of work, I won’t--”

“It _is_ from work, Viktor.” He finally looks up to meet Viktor’s, admittedly, angry gaze and Viktor can see that there’s no room for argument. “Can I have my other tie back?”

Viktor grits his teeth and swallows the protest he wants to make. He doesn’t know Yuuri well enough, he tells himself. He doesn’t have the right to comment on his lifestyle, whatever it may be. He isn’t important enough. His opinion doesn’t matter enough. Not yet, at least. 

He allows himself to remember that he still has steps to take to get the point where he can be this concerned and have his concern mean something. So he takes a deep breath and takes the first step that comes to his mind. 

“You can have your tie back,” he finally says, grabbing Yuuri’s hand when he reaches forward to take it from him. “But I require payment for my services first.”

Yuuri blinks at him. “Payment?”

“Yes, payment, Yuuri.” He tugs Yuuri against his chest and leans close enough that he can almost feel the heat flare in Yuuri’s cheeks, turning them red. “While I’ve thoroughly enjoyed your company this afternoon, I would like… a little more from you.”

Yuuri stares at him, his eyes flickering between Viktor’s intense gaze and the smile on his lips. “Am I supposed to guess what you want?”

“I think you know what I want, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s throat bobs as he swallows. “What if I don’t want to give it?”

Viktor licks his lips, nearly brushing their noses together as he whispers, “ _Don’t you_?”

A moment of silence passes. A moment in which Viktor wonders if he really did read Yuuri wrong. If that scandalous, skin tingling, heart pounding moment at the club was just a night of drunken debauchery that Yuuri wanted to forget. But then Yuuri nods, almost imperceptibly, but Viktor is close enough to see the small movement. 

“I do.” 

Viktor sighs, his lips tilting up into another smile as he whispers, “Good,” And presses their lips together. 

Yuuri is sweet and salty at the same time. Like Katsudon and sweet, sticky rice. There’s a fire in there too as Yuuri pushes against him. He tongue breaking into Vitkor’s mouth before Viktor can take the initiative to do so himself. He lets out the softest of groans, tipping his hips against Yuuri’s and just when he thinks he can take a little more, Yuuri pulls away. 

His cheeks are flushed, but this time not with embarrassment, and his gasps for breath, but not because he was running late. Yuuri looks thoroughly ravished from a single kiss and every nerve in Viktor’s body screams for more. 

But he doesn’t press for any more than Yuuri is willing to give. That kiss was payment enough. For now. 

“Wow,” Viktor breathes as he steps back, giving Yuuri his space. “Payment with interest.”

Yuuri purses his lips. “Shut up…” 

Viktor laughs softly, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “I suppose this means I finally have to give up your tie.” He fishes the unfashionably offensive material out of his pocket and offers it to Yuuri. “What a shame. I guess I no longer have blackmail material to make sure I can see you again.”

With a snort, Yuuri snatches the tie out of his hand and grabs the new one off the bench. “Viktor, do you really think you need a tie to get me to see you after that… _'payment'_ I gave?”

Viktor perks up, a grin spreading wide across his face. “Yuuri!” He leans back against the door. “You spoil me.” 

Yuuri responds with, “I’m free on Friday.”

“Dinner?” Viktor doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah,” Yuuri smiles. “I hope it’s a nice one. I plan on putting this tie to good use.” 

Viktor smirks as he beckons Yuuri out of the dressing room. “Only the best for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, once again, for your patience! As promised, I haven't given this fic up. I have a weakness for the mafia and viktuuri so it's hard for me to forget about. My New Year's Resolution is to (try) to write more. Frequent writing, I've found, really helps to clear my mind, if I can find the time to make it more of a consistent habit once again. I do hope you all continue to stick around as I do hope to have the next ch up sooner rather than later!


	7. An Eye For Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's team assesses a daunting crime scene that leaves Viktor more than a little stressed and exhausted. Yuri provides crucial mafia intel. Yuuri stresses over having to entertain the Russian Prime Minister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY! YOU ARE ALL WONDERFUL HUMAN BEINGS!

“Well, this is a mess.”

Viktor groans in response to Christophe’s comment. A “mess” is an understatement.

_The Drunken Boar_ has been a target of police suspicion for quite a while now. For years they had concealed a ring of heroin sales so large that other countries had been involved in the purchases. Viktor himself had been a part of a massive drug bust here only three years ago, but since that time they have come up clean. Viktor even enjoys coming here for a drink or two since relations between the owner and the police force were repaired. 

The bar hardly looks salvageable now. Broken pieces of furniture are scattered across the floor, punctuated by the glimmer of shattered glass. His shoes stick to the floor, peeling off with every step he takes. He hopes it’s only alcohol from the broken bottles and nothing thicker, darker. 

“Forensics found traces of heroin in here,” Christophe says as he steps up beside Viktor, his work tablet in hand. He tilts the screen toward Viktor. “Blood too.” 

With a grimace, Viktor shuffles his feet back and forth. “I suppose we are treading in more than just some well-aged _Stolichnaya_.”

Christophe snorts and takes a few more steps in, mindful of the glass and scattered objects. Viktor watches him, follows his gaze to the wall behind the bar where four bullet holes glare back at them. 

“Is it safe to assume Boris is nowhere to be found?” Viktor asks, peering behind the bar. Boris is ( _was_ ) the owner of _The Drunken Boar_. He was a short, portly middle-aged man with a beard that reminded Viktor of a younger Santa Claus. Despite the past transgressions of his bar, Viktor liked the man. It wasn’t his fault his father used his establishment for illegal drug trafficking. 

“Boris is probably in the hands of the mafia,” Christophe says, glancing up to nod at someone who entered the bar. 

“Or he’s dead.”

Viktor sighs and glances over his shoulder. 

Phichit stands in the doorway, a wide grin spreading across his lips. He holds an expensive looking camera in his hands, pointing it at the wreckage and lifting it to his eye. 

Viktor's eyes widen. “ _Don’t you dare_ ,” Viktor growls. He rounds on Phichit, stomping across the bar. “This is not one of your flashy editorials. You are not taking any keepsake photos for the betterment of your journalism career.”

Phichit smiles at him, unfazed by Viktor’s anger. The expression infuriates him. He opens his mouth to reprimand him further when a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Yakov told him to take pictures of the scene,” Christophe explains, offering a sympathetic smile. He knows how Viktor feels about his crime scenes, about his assignments. He’s still leery about Phichit, no matter what Yakov thinks about him. It doesn’t sit well to have a journalist on his team. “He said he’s got an eye for detail.”

“ _I_ have an eye for detail,” Viktor counters. He runs his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh before waving his hand around the room. “Continue.” He says to Phichit. “Do _not_ miss anything.”

Phichit’s smile widens. “I’ve been told I’m damn good with a camera. I promise I won’t let you down.” 

Viktor dismisses him with a flick of his fingers and heads toward the door. Christophe follows. 

“This doesn’t look as bad as I assumed it would be,” Christophe comments, leaning against the doorframe. “Could’ve been a lot bloodier.”

“It was.” Viktor rubs his fingers against his temple. “There are barely concealed blood stains, like someone was dragged across the floor in the back room and someone hastily cleaned it up. More bullet holes in the kitchen, and someone must have kicked the employee bathroom door off its hinges.” 

Christophe raises an eyebrow and grins. “Guess you do have an eye for detail.”

Viktor’s lips twitch as he shoves at Christophe’s shoulder. 

“So you’re saying we should have a body count.” Christophe’s eyes flicker into the bar, following Phichit as he cuts a photo path through the mess. 

“We _should_ have a body count, Chris. There should be more heroin to bring in and analyze. This is a mess, but it’s organized chaos. Someone tampered with the evidence before it even became evidence.”

“So you’re thinking… mafia for sure?”

“It is the fucking mafia.”

Viktor whips his head around to find Yuri standing on the sidewalk outside the bar. He’s not in uniform. Instead he dons a leather jacket and a pair of ripped jeans. A dark red collared shirt peeks out from beneath the jacket. Viktor recognizes the leather boots as ones he gave Yuri for his birthday two years ago. 

“I overheard talk about it this morning when I—“

Viktor launches himself forward, slamming a hand over Yuri’s mouth. He pulls him tightly against his side, ignoring the way he struggles. “We’ll be in the car. Can you handle Yakov when he gets here?”

Christophe grimaces. “Vitya, how is that fair for you to ask that of me?”

“Chris.” Viktor frowns at him, slowly dragging Yuri away from the bar. “I must speak with Yuratchka. Alone. In the car.” Yuri freezes against him. “It’s very important.” 

With a huff, Christophe waves them away and Viktor manages to make it to the car and get them both inside with no more struggle from Yuri. 

Viktor rounds on him the moment they’re alone. “Are you kidding me, Yuratchka?” 

“What the fuck are you—“

“You cannot come to the crime scene out of uniform. You cannot come dressed like this." He gestures wildly toward Yuri's body. " _Like them_!”

Yuri’s eyes narrow. “Everyone there knows what I’m doing with them. I don’t see why the hell it matters what I’m wearing.”

“Not _everyone_.” Viktor thinks about the few workers in the forensics department still milling about, some he’s sure he’s never even met before. He thinks about Phichit and his incessant photo taking. Only Christophe and Yakov know about Yuri’s position as a spy in the mafia outside of Yuri and himself and Viktor wants to keep it that way. The less hands in the pot the better. 

“Maybe you should’ve told that shit to me before calling me over here.”

“I didn’t call you,” Viktor replies, running his fingers through his hair. “If I had my way, you would not have been notified of this until later. You have your own job to do.”

The expression on Yuri’s face sours. “Are you fucking kidding me? _This_ is my job. I have a right to know what the hell is going on with—“

“This is something you should have known about already,” Viktor snaps in return, his patience thinning. “Your job is to provide intel. What intel have you provided that we don’t already know?”

Yuri glares at him. Something like pain flashes in his eyes, but his anger snuffs it out. “Fuck off, Viktor,” he growls. “I have no rights in the mafia at all right now. They don’t trust me yet.” He clenches his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “You’re just like fucking Yakov, expecting less of me than I can give.”

Viktor falters, his irritation ebbing away at the frustration laced with sadness in Yuri's voice. His own voice softens. “Yuratchka, you know I didn’t mean for it to sound that way...” He tries to reach out to press a hand to Yuri’s shoulder, but Yuri tilts away and places a hand on the door. “This is huge. The whole thing. So many lives are at stake and we do not even know a fraction of who is involved. It’s too early to expect such deep intel from you, I know, but it’s precisely because I have such faith in you that I believe you can get this information so quickly.”

Yuri’s mouth twitches downward, but he doesn’t respond. 

Viktor continues. “I’m worried too,” he admits softly. He cards his fingers through his hair again. “Worried that we won’t find out anything. Worried that we’ll be seen as incompetent. That Yakov will take this away from me when I’ve put so much time into it. And I’m worried about you too. The mafia is no joke, Yuratchka. I could never forgive myself if—“

“Just—“ Yuri shoves the door open, a deep scowl on his face. He steps out of the car and hisses. “Shut the fuck up, Viktor. Stop fucking punishing yourself and everyone on this team. We know what the fuck we’re doing. And if Yakov doesn’t think so then he can shove it up his ass.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. 

Yuri pauses with a hand on the door, ready to slam it shut. “By the way, they’re sending a few members down to the dock to intercept some vessel Friday night. Don’t know what they got on it. I can’t be there. Do something useful with the info, asshole, and stop moping.” He sneers at Viktor. “You can’t _always_ win.”

The slam of the door makes Viktor jump even though he watches it swing shut. He sits in the silence, letting the words sink in. Friday night, intercepting a vessel, with something on it. 

His phone rings and Viktor jumps again, knocking it to the floor. With a soft curse, he reaches down and his hand fumbles across the mat in his car until he finds his phone. 

_Yuuri_ … He groans, staring at the screen. Friday night is their date. He presses his thumb against the screen to answer and watches as a picture of Yuuri from the night they met pops up.

“Yuuri!” He tries for cheerful and knows he likely sounds lackluster instead. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

“ _Ah, Viktor._ ” There’s shuffling on Yuuri’s end and something that sounds like the clang of pots against one another. “ _I wasn’t expecting you to answer. I figured you’d be at work and I’d have to leave a message._ ”

Viktor smiles to himself. “Well, don’t you feel lucky that you caught me then? Even luckier because I am working, but I still picked up for you. You should feel special, Yuuri. I don’t do this for just anyone.”

Yuuri laughter sends a thrill down Viktor’s spine. “ _I guess I do feel kind of special._ ”

“Kind of? Yuuri, I do nothing half-assed. You should feel monumentally special!”

“ _Okay, okay. Monumentally special._ ”

“Perfect,” Viktor breathes, feeling the tension from the crime scene slowly leaving him. His shoulders lower. “So Yuuri, What was this lovely message you were going to leave me? Were you going to serenade me? Leave me a song to fall asleep to?”

“ _God, no, Viktor._ ” Yuuri chuckles. “ _I can’t sing a note on key to save my life. You will never hear me sing._ ”

“Ah, how disappointing.” Viktor leans forward, resting his chin on the top of the steering wheel. “Here I thought the Japanese were known for their voices.”

“ _Mm… maybe not singing voices, but we do have a strong voice elsewhere._ ”

Viktor draws in a sharp breath. “Yuuri, how scandalous!”

“ _Enough, enough._ ” Yuuri laughs again. “ _Let me get down to the real reason I’m calling. It’s a bit disappointing to admit, but I have to reschedule our date on Friday. Supposedly the Prime Minister will be dining with us that night and I couldn’t not be present for such an event. I need to make sure everyone is well-prepared and he is well-served._ ”

Viktor lets out a sigh of relief. “Ah, Yuuri, you have taken the weight off my shoulders. This is a mutual cancellation then as I have a work related arrangement as well.”

Yuuri echoes his sigh. “ _I… well, good. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested._ ”

Viktor’s heart flutters in his chest. A warmth spreads through him, making him realize just how cold he was before. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I am happy that you called, Yuuri. Even though our plans have been delayed, just to hear your voice—“

He cuts himself off. This feeling is too intense, Viktor thinks. He doesn’t know Yuuri well, though he wants to. But the butterflies in his stomach, the tingling in his hands, the smile on his face, he can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something more to whatever they’re starting here. 

“ _Maybe…_ ” Yuuri pauses. The background noise falls silent. “ _Maybe after?_ ”

Viktor blinks. “After as in…”

Yuuri clears his throat. “ _It’ll be late, I know. And maybe it’s too early, but… I have an extra room if you’re uncomfortable with sharing a bed._ ”

“Yuuri…” Viktor thinks his heart may have stopped. “Are you asking me to spend the night?”

There’s a beat of silence before Yuuri says, “ _I might be._ ” He pauses again before adding, “ _Only if you plan on saying yes._ ”

With a soft chuckle, Viktor replies, “Yes, Yuuri. I would love to.” 

“ _Then it’s still a date._ ” Viktor can hear a smile in Yuuri’s voice. 

“I will see you Friday then.”

“ _Friday._ ” Yuuri confirms. “ _Goodbye, Viktor._ ”

“Until then, Yuuri.”

When Viktor hangs up the phone he feels considerably lighter. A smile plays across his lips and he lifts a hand to press his fingers against them. Friday will be daunting. He knows it. But at least now he has something to look forward to. 

He doesn’t know how much times he’s spent in the car, but it’s long enough for Christophe to come knocking at his window. He opens the door and steps out to find Christophe frowning. Viktor cocks his head in silent inquiry.

“Phichit thinks he’s found something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting to the meat of things. Will Viktor find out where Yuuri is really going on Friday night? Anyone have any guesses? :D


End file.
